


The Devil's Fortress

by vanete_druse



Category: Common Law
Genre: Fluff, Halloween, Haunted Houses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5116070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanete_druse/pseuds/vanete_druse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travis drags Wes to a new haunted attraction. Wes is less than amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Fortress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mizufallsfromkumo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizufallsfromkumo/gifts).



> Written as a fill for a prompt by mizufallsfromkumo and meduseld on tumblr. I had so much fun with this prompt personally as a scare actor and I hope you guys enjoy it. Happy Halloween! :D

“Wes! Wes, look at this flier. Look at it! We have to go!”

It’s the beginning of October and Wes has been silently counting down the final moments of peace before having to deal with all things Halloween – he should’ve realized it would be Travis to ruin it, all by waving some crumpled piece of paper in his face.

Smoothing it out, he reads: _THE DEVIL’S FORTRESS, LA’S MOST EXTREME HAUNT YET!_

Flicking the paper back in the direction of Travis’s desk, he simply says, “No,” before picking his file back up.

Of course, the problem with Travis having been his partner for so long is that he’s come to anticipate Wes’s reactions. Picking the paper back up, he shrugs, as if the refusal means nothing to him. “That’s okay,” he starts off, pulling up his work laptop to log in. “I get it, man. Haunts aren’t for everyone. There’s no shame in being too scared to go.”

It’s a trap. Wes _knows_ it’s a trap, and every fiber of his being is telling him to ignore it, that Travis is just trying to manipulate him, that he knows he’s not scared, just uninterested in corporate America’s gaudy celebrations. Yet still what comes out of his mouth is, “What’s the address?”

Travis’s smirk is well deserved as he slides the flier over once again.

*

There’s a slight chill in the night air as Wes stands in line, ticket in hand, surrounded by excitable groups of teenagers and couples looking for any excuse to grope each other. If Travis seems perturbed by this, he doesn’t show it, easily leaning against the sturdy metal fencing. “Man, this is going to be so good. I was talking to my foster sister, Carmen, and she said it was so scary she peed herself a little going through.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” They’re standing close enough to the outer walls of the attraction to hear what must be the internal soundtrack, muffled, punctuated randomly by sudden bursts of screaming. “It’s just a bunch of wannabe actors with some fake blood on their faces jumping out and yelling ‘boo’. Honestly, I don’t see how that’s considered scary.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s more intense than that.” Travis pushes off of the gate as they move forward, stepping up towards the front of the attraction. “Carmen’s one of the toughest people I know, so I mean, if _she_ was scared…”

Wes suppresses rolling his eyes, handing his ticket over to be stamped. “Well, I guess we’re going to find out now.”

Travis just grins at him, linking their arms together as they step forward towards the greeter. It’s an innocuous gesture, certainly not out of place here considering how easy it is to become separated in a dark, unknown area – yet Wes can already feel the flush creeping up from his collarbone, his body turning unconsciously in towards Travis’s. “Welcome to the Devil’s Fortress…”

The story itself is a cliché, something about a satanic cult calling on the forces of Hell to overtake their small village, but the way the young girls of the group are already hiding their faces into their boyfriend’s shoulders, who are straightening their backs and looking nervously around, that starts to make his stomach tighten with slight apprehension.

He doesn’t think it shows on his face, but Travis is smiling at him pretty smugly, their arms tightly entangled.

“…and now, proceed –if you _dare_!”

As the greeter gestures towards the door, it opens by itself, eliciting a gasp from half of the group. Travis squeezes his bicep and whispers, “Oh, it’s gonna be _good_!” before dragging him excitedly through the doorway, making them the leaders of the group.

Visibility is immediately lowered, barely even a few dim lights around to vaguely illuminate the set around them, disorienting Wes as his eyes struggle to adjust from the well-lit waiting area. They’re in an old fashioned living room set, it seems, as he bumps up against a side table, the shape of a settee and a piano slowly materializing before him.

There’s a soundtrack but it’s low, a distant murmur that doesn’t do much to cover their footsteps creaking slowly as they inch their way through, trying to find the exit. “I don’t like this,” one of the college girls says, her voice soft and a little shaky.

As if activated by the sound, a figure suddenly jumps out of the shadows, slapping the piano keys in a loud, random order, making the rest of their group scream out a loud. “You think you’re going to make it…but you’re _NOT!_ ” It howls, before descending into maniacal laughter, half dancing, half lunging at them. “The devil’s gonna eat _you_ right up….”

It’s hard to tell in the dark, but Wes can’t shake the feeling that the figure is staring right at him. _This is all fake, stop it,_ he thinks, a little lamely, as Travis pulls him through towards the next room, a bounce in his step. “Dude, _dude_! They came out of _nowhere_! This is awesome!”

“The piano needs to be tuned. It’s off key,” Wes remarks, leaning in to Travis’s ear to be heard as the soundtrack begins to increase in volume. Their sides are firmly pressed together in the narrow passageways, not really meant for two people.

“I told you it was scary, baby,” Travis smirks.

The next few rooms hold similar horrors, figures appearing out of nowhere to warn them against the devil, or Satanists, or both, and Wes tries to pretend his free hand doesn’t jerk towards his empty hip with each sudden loud noise or yell in his ear.

Turning a corner, the layout melds into a mock outside walkway, fake moss hanging from the ceiling. On one side is a rusted park, the swings beginning to move by itself, and a roundabout slowly turning with a creak. Wes is still watching the slow, steady movements over Travis’s shoulder, when all of a sudden there is a raspy voice hovering at his back, “Wanna go play? You only have to sell your soul for a quick push on the swing!”

It’s not that he’s _scared_ , per se, but that he’s very particular about his space being invaded, and the closeness of the actor bothers him and pushes him closer to Travis to create a new safety bubble – yet the way Travis is laughing tells him that it’s not quite true, his other arm coming up to wrap around Wes’s back for a minute to pull him into a full hug, awkwardly continuing sideways for a moment as the actor ducks down and moves to harass the back of their group.

Wes’s heart is still beating faster than normal even as they move into the next set, the scent of Travis’s cologne seeping into his clothes even as they break apart slightly. He tries to detach their arms but the darker man grabs him by the hand, entwining their fingers together. “It’s too dark for all that,” he explains, even as Victorian street lamps cast a clear lit path ahead of them.

Through a small one room schoolhouse that reminds Wes of how loud rulers on chalkboards are and a saloon with a slightly handsy bartender, they come to the final set: the summoning of Satan. More theatrical than frightening, they watch as the cult members in black robes chant and dance in front of a bonfire, a large metal pentagon hanging in the background. With a burst of the fire and dark smoke, the devil appears, towering in stilts and with a voice modulator booming out descriptions of hellfire and the need for sin. Even Wes can’t deny that the effect is pretty cool, standing hand in hand as Travis absentmindedly rubs the ridges of his knuckles.

Once they make it out of the converted warehouse, heading back towards the parking lot, Wes pulls away, smoothing out the edges of his suit. “God, that was so _good_! And man, when that guy got you-“

“He _didn’t_ , I just don’t like my space being invaded,” Wes replies defensively, jingling his car keys in hand, hitting the unlock button four times.

“So you start clinging to me like a spider monkey because you didn’t want anyone in your space? Yeah, _okay_.”

“You’re dif- _that’s_ different….I didn’t _know_ them!”

Travis stops with his hand still on the door handle, his blue eyes shining brightly even in the nighttime light. “It’s different with me?”

“You know what I mean. Shut up and get in the car.” Trying to hide the warmth that’s creeping into his face, he quickly ducks into the driver’s seat, starting up the car barely before Travis has even opened the door; waiting for the other man to get settled, he fiddles with the radio volume and temperature dials.

“I didn’t mind, you know. It was nice, seeing you like that. Letting go, being…” Travis trails off, the conversation halting from the awkwardness; this isn’t what they do, actually sharing with each other. But there’s a little voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Dr. Ryan’s, going, _It’s good for you both._ Wes suspects it’s there in Travis’s head too, as he continues, “This is why we should go out more often.”

“Go out?” Wes should be driving away but he’s not, letting his car run as he sits there and watches Travis.

“You know what I mean,” The other man mimics, affecting a higher and nasally voice that is absolutely _not_ how Wes speaks whatsoever.

“Do I?”

Smooth jazz plays in the silence that follows, as Travis taps his foot against the floor mat a few times before finally just leaning forward to kiss Wes, his hand tracing his cheekbone, his jaw, his neck. “I was going do that earlier, but I didn’t want to take advantage of you in your vulnerable state.”

“I hate you,” Wes breathes, before going in for another kiss. “They didn’t scare me.”

Travis only smiles, and says, “Sure thing, babe.” But Wes knows that he just condemned himself to a month of haunted houses, and is already preparing himself for next Friday’s new flier and Travis’s pleading eyes.


End file.
